The Adventure of the Mysterious Bouquet
by notmycentury
Summary: A love spell goes wrong and suddenly everyone falls for Sherlock... who is decidedly unamused. De-anon from the kinkmeme. S/J, oneshot, shameless crackfluff!


When Sherlock finds a bouquet of red roses on the doorstep of 221B, he knows something is very, very wrong.

They can't be for John because what woman would leave flowers for her boyfriend? And anyway, John isn't in a romantic relationship at the moment. (A fact which Sherlock tries unsuccessfully not to gloat over.) Which means that either it's an accident (unlikely, because the tag, inexplicably, seems to have his name on it) or… what? Who on earth would leave flowers for Sherlock Holmes?

He stares at the bouquet, deducing instantly that the flowers were left there sometime this morning—it irritates him that he never noticed that someone was there—and that they were purchased at a florist's a short distance from Scotland Yard. The sender wished to remain anonymous, likely because he or she (he was looking more likely at the moment) was afraid of rejection and/or didn't want John to see him.

Why would Lestrade send him flowers? That's definitely the scent of the man's aftershave, masked by the in-your-face smell of the roses… but red roses are about the most romantic gesture you can give, and Sherlock has had no indication that Lestrade is, or would ever be, interested in a romantic relationship with him. Until very recently Sherlock was under the impression that Lestrade wasn't even interested in men.

He is interrupted in his puzzling by Mrs. Hudson, who sidles into the flat in a decidedly strange manner and inquires if Sherlock will be wanting breakfast, batting her eyelashes and making a face that looks somewhat like that of a lovesick cow. None of her usual protestations that she is Not Your Housekeeper. Why would she be offering to make him breakfast? And what's more, she hasn't mentioned John. Why hasn't she mentioned John?

Brushing off her offer and ignoring the obvious signs of flirtation because he cannot fathom what she is doing, Sherlock stalks out of the flat in his usual dark coat, tossing the bouquet into a bin on the way to get a cab. He considers keeping it as evidence for a moment, but the smell is already making him sneeze, and anyway, having roses in the flat will be a definite cause for question whenever John decides to wake up. This wasn't quite what Sherlock had in mind to alleviate his between-case boredom (not to mention general weekend boredom), but he supposes it will do.

Sherlock takes a taxi to the Yard and wonders why the taxi driver keeps glancing at him in the rearview mirror. He doesn't have to wonder any more when the taxi driver asks him if he would like to go out for a drink sometime. Sherlock is about to tell him the usual married-to-his-work line (well, not _usual_, but lately considerably more often than he would like) but instead he opts for saying he is already in a relationship, since this is more likely to mean no further advances. And, considering the logic of his usual response to such things, it's true—he's in a long-term relationship with his work. Not that he has any qualms about lying. Or would ever consider an actual relationship with a human. Especially not John Watson.

Sherlock notices, much to his irritation, that the blood flow to his cheeks has increased. He ignores it.

He pulls up his coat collar and strides into the Yard, ignoring the passerby who turn to stare. Perhaps he's imagining it, but there seem to be considerably more of them today.

The minute he opens the door, he is literally swarmed by just about every member of the police force. Even Anderson is trying to grab hold of him. Even _Donovan_. Donovan is saying something about being sorry she's always called him a freak and it's really her way of expressing her love for him. Sherlock is pretty sure he hears at least one marriage proposal.

He pulls out his phone and texts Moriarty, because this has to stop, whatever the hell he's done this time.

You can stop this now, we've all got the idea, thank you. Oh, and I personally do not find this in the least amusing.

SH

Sherlock elbows his way out of the crush and toward Lestrade's office. Several hands grip the back of his jacket. A couple grip a bit lower down. He ignores all of them.

His phone buzzes.

What are you talking about, Sherlock? By the way, I love you. Take over the world with me? 3

JM

Sherlock groans audibly, mutters something that sounds like _what part of "not funny" does he not understand_ and manages to shut himself into Lestrade's office without harming himself. Barely. The end of his scarf manages to get caught in the door, and he unravels himself from it and leaves it there because he's rather afraid if he opens the door he will be flattened by the over-amorous mob.

No. Still not funny.

SH

He looks up at Lestrade, begins to apologize for barging in and groans again. The Detective Inspector is blushing and stammering and attempting to tidy up his office and apologizing for the commotion outside and generally not being much better than the rest of this lot. Sherlock's phone buzzes again.

It's. Not. A. Joke. MARRY ME.

JM

Sherlock is hit by a sudden urge to facepalm, but resists because he is still holding his phone and that would be rather uncomfortable. He apologizes to Lestrade for being on his phone instead of actually talking to him—and generally causing him trouble—and asks if there is a window he can use to escape. He pretends not to notice Lestrade's hands all over him as he "helps" Sherlock climb out.

No.

SH

A few alleyways over, he hears screaming.

Please? I've got a nice murder for you….

JM

And that, Sherlock thinks to himself, is probably the man's equivalent of Lestrade's bouquet of roses.

Boring. Too easy. No.

SH

The building across the street blows up, and he dodges just in time to avoid being sliced by bits of glass.

You WILL marry me.

JM

Sherlock is considering how to reply to this when he feels a hand over his mouth and a knife at his throat.

And this, he decides, is Moriarty's equivalent of a dinner date.

Several minutes, a lot of shouting and a conveniently-placed black car later, he is tied to a chair in an empty warehouse and extremely annoyed. He has a sniper trained on him—or rather, he would have had a sniper trained on him, had that sniper not taken one look at him, dropped the gun and dropped to one knee. The sniper—who appears to be called Seb something—and Moriarty are currently having an argument over which one of them gets Sherlock. Or gets him first. Or something. Sherlock isn't really paying attention, but he guesses Moriarty has won when Seb (?) storms out the door.

He braces himself and studiously ignores Moriarty's advances, which gets increasingly harder to do the more Moriarty leers at him, strokes his cheek and is generally very irritating. Then Seb returns with a box of chocolates and pulls Moriarty off him. Sherlock suspects he should be saying "My hero" and fainting into the sniper's arms, but even if he'd wanted to do so, he couldn't have, being bound and gagged.

After an argument about whether or not the gag gets to come off (Seb wins and it does), they finally appear to have decided to compromise. Unfortunately, this compromise does not include Sherlock's input and does include some very worrying terms such as "threesome."

Luckily, while they are distracted, Sherlock manages to get at his phone. He knows he doesn't have much time, so he quickly texts John and hopes he'll actually understand what's going on.

In a warehouse being fought over by M and a sniper. Unfortunately not kidding. Get Mycroft.

SH

Moriarty and the sniper are now having an argument over whether they will untie Sherlock or not. They honestly seem about to duel over this and Sherlock's affections in general, which luckily means they don't notice Sherlock's phone buzzing.

The text simply says "Distract them, fast."

Sherlock, going with the general feeling of dueling and chivalry and such, says loudly that he thinks he saw some fencing equipment on his way in if they should wish to fight over him, and points in a completely random direction, hoping that they will at least look.

He seems to have underestimated their complete stupidity at the moment, as they both take off at a run and seem to be racing each other to get to the nonexistent swords. Seb is winning.

Thankfully, he feels someone untying his bonds (which are, surprisingly, ordinary rope and not doused in nitroglycerin or anything) and hears John's voice from behind him telling him to get into the car.

"Let me guess, the _other_ unmarked black car that just happens to be sitting outside and probably just happened to have followed me here? My brother again, was it?" Sherlock says, standing and rubbing at a patch of rope burn on his arm.

"Yes. Sorry about all this, I've no idea what's going on but Mycroft told me you were in trouble and then you texted me when I was almost here. Just… go to the car, I have something to take care of first," John says, staring off toward where Moriarty and Seb have gone with a decidedly menacing look on his face.

Sherlock, for once, obeys, trying to ignore the rush of pride and gratitude and something else that he _definitely did not just feel for John_.

His brother's PA, whatever she's calling herself today, smiles at him and offers a game of Words With Friends while he waits. He declines because he is listening for gunshots. There is somewhat companionable silence for a few minutes, a solitary gunshot (in the air, Sherlock assumes) and then John appears at the car, apologizing for the wait.

When they finally arrive at Mycroft's office, his brother seems to be the only person in the universe (besides John, probably, which definitely does not disappoint Sherlock) who is _not _in love with him. His explanation of why everyone else is is greeted by incredulous silence.

"Sorry, _what?_" John says, his teacup suspended in midair.

"Don't be _ridiculous_, Mycroft," Sherlock says somewhat patronizingly. "Magic doesn't exist."

"A lot of things exist that you can't be bothered to know about, Sherlock. Why can't this one?" Mycroft says, sipping his tea imperiously.

"But—but what, you're saying someone has put a _love spell_ on Sherlock?" John says, putting his tea down and staring at Mycroft with one eyebrow raised. "To make everyone fall in love with him. Why… _why_ would someone do that? Even ignoring the fact, which Sherlock has just succinctly stated, that _magic doesn't exist._"

"We think that this person was—"

"I'm sorry, 'we'?" John raises one eyebrow.

"There is an… agency which deals with this sort of thing."

"And I suppose there's one for aliens as well?" John says, looking very much as if he'd like to just leave this ridiculous discussion, thankyouverymuch.

"Several, actually. To get back to my previous point, _we_ think that the spellcaster wished to make only one specific person fall in love with Sherlock, but was inexperienced or used a bad spell or both and ended up creating… this." Here Mycroft gestures at the window with a look of distaste.

"You're missing the most important point, Mycroft," Sherlock says impatiently. "_How_ do I get rid of it?"

"Er." Mycroft looks vaguely embarrassed. "I'm afraid it's one of those things that can only be broken with true love's kiss. Sappy and ridiculous, I know, but still, there it is. Would you like me to leave the room while you—" He gestures vaguely.

"While I _what_ exactly?" Sherlock glares at his brother and at the room in general.

"Well, I suppose we might as well try it, ridiculous or no," John says. "And hey, if I don't work, you can always try Molly or something, right?"

Before Sherlock can figure out what on earth he's talking about, John is kissing him. It does not last nearly as long as Sherlock would like, and suddenly John is taking him by the hand and dragging him outside. It takes him a minute to work out that they are testing whether this has worked. Sherlock feels like he should be worried by the way being kissed by John is messing with his brain processes, but at the moment he is still trying to work out what that meant and process all the data.

Passerby in the street aren't staring at him, even before John lets go of his hand, which should be a good sign, right? And suddenly his phone is buzzing wildly. Before he has a chance to look at it, their taxi has arrived at St. Barts, so he looks at his texts on the way to the morgue and nearly trips only once.

I just want to apologize for… whatever that was. I think I must have been drunk or something… I hope I didn't do anything too weird, I don't remember much of it…

-Lestrade

Whatever the hell just happened, I didn't mean ANY of it. You got that? ANYTHING. Especially not the parts where I was choosing you over Seb, who is definitely not reading over my shoulder with a gun pointed at me, and says he didn't mean any of it either but you can keep the chocolates if you like.

JM

freak, whatever the fuck that was, i think i was drugged. obviously i did not mean any of it and i still think you're a freak, got that?

Donovan

That… that was… i obviously do not want to marry you, Sherlock, & neither do any of the other yarders and what the HELL did you put in my drink?

Anderson

"Molly, are you in love with me?" Sherlock announces, sweeping open the door to the morgue and sticking his phone back into his pocket.

"Sherlock, that's not the right way to start this conversation," John says, exasperated.

What neither of them expects is for her to look up from something that looks rather like it could be a spellbook and burst into tears.

"No! I'm sorry, I was just trying to make you happy, but it all went wrong and now everyone is in love with you except him and—"

John cuts her off with a comforting hand on her shoulder, glances at Sherlock, mouths "be nice" and says "It's all fixed now, don't worry."

She looks up at him, wipes her eyes on her sleeve and says "It… is?"

"Yup. True love's kiss and all that. Your, uh, spell may not have worked on me, but that's because I didn't need it." John grins at her and Sherlock finds that he is absurdly happy at this ridiculous development. While inadvertently finding out that Molly is a witch (or… whatever) is not exactly what he'd had in mind for the weekend, also inadvertently finding out that John is in love with him saves him a lot of trouble. And lets him finally admit to himself that he is, in fact, in love with John Watson.

And they all live happily ever after, of course. Except possibly for a few Yarders who now own inexplicable, very expensive engagement rings and have no one to give them to.


End file.
